


we are such stuff as dreams are made on

by moaningmyrtle



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5013796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moaningmyrtle/pseuds/moaningmyrtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the absence of noise that bothered him more than the constant laughing, keeping him awake until the next morning, forced to listen to sweet nothings through thin apartment walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**prologue**

 

You could hear his laugh from a mile away, and it wasn't one that was easily forgotten- it resonated, like a song stuck in someone's head, the lyrics replaying until it became unbearable.

 

_"So he must be really funny, or you're faking it. Either way, could you two shut the hell up?"_

 

_A bright smile tugged across Oliver's tired face as they shared the small space in the elevator, and he shrugged as if Connor's comment hadn't bothered him in the slightest, "I doubt it."_

 

Their feet tapped against the hard wood floor, constantly and without fail, and although it remained hidden behind a thin wall, it was obvious they were dancing. Almost always, they'd sing along with more enthusiasm than the music played, often offbeat, tuneless, confident and careless.

 

_A morning after they'd seemingly bought a new album, he caught sight of Connor shoving open his door as if he hadn't slept for a minute, obviously pissed off and ready to express it; the moment they caught each others stare, Oliver stifled a beaming smile and braced himself for the days complaints._

_"I've always said, well if I'm going to be woken up at three in the morning, it might as well be to a couple of morons belting out Queen."_

Hours after the sun had disappeared beneath the cities skyline and the horizon lit up with lights, incessant laughing would eventually fade into hushed conversations- hours and hours, back and forth, as they're soft spoken words carried on throughout the night and into the early morning. Sometime before the apartment door would open, bed feet against the ground would scratch loud enough that surely they weren't trying to hide a thing.

 

_"I mean, you could at least pull the mattress away from the wall."_

_It didn't happen often, but Oliver's cheeks reddened and he lit up with embarrassment, a content grin unhidden as he remembered the night before and obviously found it hard to ignore the way his chest thumped against his ribcage, "Oh- sorry."_

Summer progressed into cold nights and snow covered sidewalks, and while the seasons changed with time, his neighbor's happiness did not. It wasn't until December sixteenth, the temperature having dropped well below zero and an icy layer forming over everything in Philadelphia, that the yelling through the drywall no longer sounded playful. It was angry words shouted out through gritted teeth and a hollow silence that followed.

 

" _You finally disagree on something?" Connor asked the following morning, breaking the silence as they both stepped out of their apartments around seven a.m., "Doesn't matter- fight quieter, alright?"_

_It was slightly off-putting as he watched Oliver peer over for barely a second, nothing but a sigh slipping out from between his tight lips._

_"Uh- you even hear me?"_

_"Yeah," Oliver answered quickly as if he just wanted Connor to stop talking, a large garbage bag slung tiredly over his shoulder while he carried on down the hall, turning away without his usual snarky remark- maybe they'd finally start switching off the music before midnight._

 

Pages, textbooks, notes and transcripts littered the entirety of Connor's kitchen table, taunting him with undone and expected homework. Without the background noise that he'd been functioning to for months, it became a challenge to focus. Instead, he found himself with his ear pressed against the wall behind his desk, waiting for the slightest bump or giggle- it didn’t come that night.

 

Or the next night.

 

January returned with more rain than snow, and still, the apartment next to him remained seemingly abandoned; the thought crept into his mind that maybe Oliver had moved away, but every so often he would hear the creak of the door open and close behind his neighbor.

 

_It felt strange as he began to look for a reason to say something, eventually doing so as he headed out the door for a cup of coffee, "You finally moved that bed, eh?"_

_There was a weariness in Oliver's expression, bags beneath his dark eyes, and he wasn't wearing his glasses that morning; apparently it didn't matter whether he could see or not, shrugging a jacket tighter against his shoulders and just barely finding the energy to respond, "Sure."_

_"You want a coffee?" Connor asked, watching with concern as his neighbor began to retreat back into his quiet apartment, "I could bring one over. It's not a big deal- you look tired."_

_"I'm good," Oliver mumbled  as if all he wanted at this point was to fall back asleep, no thank-you before he shut the door behind him with a slight slam and left Connor standing awkwardly in the middle of the hall, staring blankly back at nothing._


	2. Chapter 2

People always told him that 'silence can be deafening,' and the phrase sounded simply absurd. While it was no secret that a night beneath the sheets came along often with Connor's lifestyle, after he'd picked his clothes up off the carpet and snuck out the door with light feet and his breath held, it was peace and quiet that he ached for.

 

After a month and a half of listening to nothing but the monotonous sound of city traffic outside his open window, the analogy was becoming painfully understandable. If deafening referred to the way his body itched with a sense of constant irritability, waiting impatiently for a plate to shatter or sad songs to ring through the building, Connor could relate now.

 

That might've been why he'd pressed his ear firmly against the wall and cupped his palms around it, his eyebrows furrowed with focus- still, not even a bang or a crash caught his attention. It was just as that side of his face threatened with numbness that Connor's doorbell rang, and he pulled away with a startled jump, finding himself embarrassingly close to the verge of talking to himself in order to fill the void.

 

"It's Michaela," She knocked loudly and more times than necessary, quick-tempered and restless as Connor fixed the hair that had formed against the flatness of the drywall, "Are you there? It's-"

 

"Michaela," Connor finished her sentence as he swung open the door, and she shot him an odd look in return- it wasn't often that he appeared so happy to have someone show up unexpected at his door, especially late on a Friday night, "And no, there's no one here."

 

"Well good, 'cause I've got some serious evidence on- wait, something's different," Michaela dropped her purse on the make-shift bar and hesitantly looked around, as if all the furniture had been moved around as some sort of practical joke. A few seconds passed before the difference became obvious, and she turned to Connor with a glare and a lecture ready to tear him apart, "What'd you do."

 

"What? I didn't do anything."

 

"It's… quiet," She stated matter-of-factly, lifting her finger in the air as if to prove her point as she circled the  kitchen counter, "I told you a hundred times to leave that nice couple alone- you can't yell at someone for being in love, Connor."

 

Scoffing as he reached inside the refrigerator, Connor cracked open a bottle and tossed one at Michaela before he responded, "True, but it's not illegal to tell your neighbors to shut it every once in a while, especially when they're as loud as those two were."

 

The second bottle remained unopened in Michaela's hands, "Were?"

 

"Yeah, were. You remember the one who always sang a little louder when they'd turn on that really shitty rap music? Moved out and left behind harry-potter glasses," Connor spoke casually, letting the bottle rest against his lips for a moment before tipping it back, desperately needing the buzz it would inevitably bring.

 

The gasp that Michaela let slip was seemingly genuine, and while he'd been trying to get used to the unusual quietness, her apparent sympathy wasn't unshared. For a few weeks following the lack of commotion coming from the next room over, Connor couldn't help but peak out his own door in curiosity, waiting for Oliver to step out with usual red cheeks and a glow that brightened his face.

 

What he instead caught glimpses of was his neighbor leaving with tired rings under his dark eyes, wearing the same outfit every single day and always checking a phone that never seemed to ring- if it ever happened to, Connor would hear it through their paper thin apartment walls. The beaming smile that once seemed permanent had been replaced with a heavy-hearted expression, and his feet dragged behind him with each step.

 

"So- Survivor?"

 

"Connor," Michaela scolded and her disappointment was evident, setting the beer down and gesturing towards the closed door, "Go."

 

"What? Where?"

 

"Go ask him if he wants a drink ," Michaela nodded again and flashed him a look that she used to make those around her feel guiltier than even a mother could, "It's sad!"

 

The same idea had been in the back of his mind for weeks, wondering every time he saw Oliver if it'd be easier to just ask him to make some noise together, play some music or dance around the living room. The more defensive side of his mind forced him to respond with a harsher attitude, "You want me to pity-date someone?"

 

"That's not what I meant! God- can't you just tell him we're watching TV?" Michaela suggested as she brushed off his incessant sarcasm, now shoving him towards the door, "C'mon, go. I'll get something on the stove, I'm hungry."

 

It felt a bit dishonest to knock at the apartment that he's been trying desperately to eavesdrop on, and Connor stepped out into the hallway, ending up standing board stiff with his fist held out inches from the door. It wasn't like he'd ever been overly friendly with Oliver, possibly even a little blunt after a night without sleep, and maybe there was a hint of jealousy that caused his constant rudeness; he'd never admit that aloud.

 

The first knock came by short and sweet, and Connor's breath caught as he waited for something to happen; no one answered, nothing stirred inside. Maybe he wasn't home?

 

A wave of unsureness rushed over his mind unexpectedly, and he tapped once more, louder and more consistent this time. Still, it remained closed and untouched; only, a light switch was flicked on and a beam of yellow shot out through the cracks.

 

Staring down at the bright line and frowning, Connor began to knock without taking a break, roughly rapping the side of his fist against the door over and over again as a lump swelled in his throat, "Oliver? You there?"

 

When it swung open at last, he'd been knocking for what could've possibly been seven minutes and Oliver had to dodge his last swing before Connor realized what was happening.

 

"Oh- shit. I'll turn it down." Oliver mumbled as he looked up at Connor through smudged lenses, his hair ruffled and a pair of wrinkled sweat pants hanging loosely around his thin hips. The sweater he was buried in was oversized, torn apart, and clearly unwashed. Connor immediately recognized the blue and black pattern; wearing his exes clothes months later surely couldn't have been a good sign. Behind where he stood, blankets and pillows covered a sofa and some sort of hospital show was playing on the television, empty cans littered across the table; if he didn't know any better, he might've assumed Oliver had been having parties for days on ends.

 

"No, no," Connor choked out before he'd nearly shut the door, speechless a second as he hadn't planned out what to say when Oliver actually did decide to open up, almost having given up hope that he would, "That's not what I'm here for."

 

"Um," Oliver peeked past and around Connor with knitted eyebrow's, as if expecting that he'd been trying to let someone else in, "Okay. If you aren't here to kick up a fuss, then what-"

 

"Survivor's on," He cut Oliver's assumptions short, yelling out what was far from what he considered smooth and charismatic, "We're watching it, over at my place- I've got a six pack, and it looks like you're almost out."

 

"Well," Oliver didn't appear at all impressed, stumbling into the door frame as if he'd already had one too many, "I guess, thanks for rubbing it in?"

 

"C'mon," Connor gestured down the hall, smiling a little but getting not even a muscle twitch in return, "Get out of this mess for an hour or two- it can't hurt, right?"

 

It took Oliver a moment of apparent confusion before he came to realize that his neighbor, the same one who'd repeatedly tore him apart after what were possibly the best nights of his life, was inviting him over to share a drink. There was no doubt that his last month had been spent completely alone, and it was almost embarrassing to find that even the man who so obviously hated him was taking pity.

 

"Oh, I get it," Oliver laughed dryly, as if he'd figured something out in his own thoughts, "Did the landlord put you up to this? Listen, you can tell him I'll pay my damn rent when the money comes in." 

 

"What? No," Connor shook his head dramatically and, determined to fix this situation, decided to simply blurt out the truth. It took a moment before he continued, finding it a challenge to meet Oliver's stare while he confessed, "Listen, man- I haven't seen you smile in months. I know I nagged you for keeping me up, but honestly, it's kind of driving me crazy how quiet you've been lately. So, just come over. It's a really nice smile."


	3. Chapter 3

'You've got a really nice smile.'

 

The compliment had almost slipped out carelessly from his neighbor's curled lips, as if he hadn't meant to add that but now there was no taking it back. It was the last thing he'd thought Connor would ever say to him, so far from 'shut the hell up,' or 'try not to break the wall' that he was almost sure this was some sort of joke.

 

"Are you being serious, or is this sarcasm? Really, I can't tell," Oliver stammered out after a quiet moment, his heart beating quick now and reminding him of a time when every day was spent with a speeding train beneath his rib cage. It wasn't a surprise that his neighbor had noticed the lack of noise, but to miss it? It didn't seem logical.

 

For what was the first time he'd ever witnessed it, Connor Walsh was without words- he always had something to say, a snide comment or taunting remark, often sporting an expression that warned him to stay back twenty feet. The way he stood now, blushing and wide-eyed, was throwing Oliver through a whirlwind.

 

"Fuck," Connor swore, as if regretting something, and Oliver quickly took a step back before he continued, "Have I really been that bitchy to you?"

 

The truth was, Oliver never cared much- it didn't matter what his handsome but consistently pissed-off neighbor thought, because he'd simply been happy. Too happy to remind himself that people didn't stick around forever, as much as he wished that it wasn't true; he just couldn't force someone to stay. Instead of a justified response, he shrugged and looked down at his socks.

 

"Alright," Walsh nodded and seemed to accept that he'd already made an awful first impression, and for some reason didn't walk away just yet, "Any chance you forget how much of an old man I was?"

 

Again, his shoulders lifted and fell, fixing his glasses and praying that Connor couldn't tell that he'd already been drinking. It was supposed to get better, the feelings were supposed to fade, so why hadn't they? Even after five beers and so little to eat that his stomach churned, memories of his ex still bombarded his thoughts at the worst of times.

 

"Okay, I'll leave," Connor said after the realization came upon him that this wasn't getting him anywhere, and Oliver wasn't about to flash that award-winning smile and slip on a clean sweater, "Just- we're here, if you get bored. Don't be a stranger."

 

A 'thank-you' sat unsaid on his lips as Connor looked back as if expecting him to change his mind, almost as if he were a little let down that he hadn't yet, and Oliver frowned- where had that come from? The door shut with a quiet slam behind him as he stumbled back inside, and he quickly found balance against the wall and attempted to catch his breath, "What the hell was that?"

 

What he would've assumed was just an invitation formed from pity seemed to have been much more genuine, and the image of Connor's half-smile and suggestive stare was burned into his memory, replaying it over for his own gratification. It wasn't as if he hadn't given his neighbor a once-over before, finding it easiest when he wasn't looking as they shared the same elevator or caught him hurrying out his apartment door, dressed in a fitting suit and his hair always gelled like modelling was his profession.

 

For what was probably more than a few minutes, Oliver pressed his palm against the inside of his apartment door and stared out the peephole, wondering and maybe hoping that he'd come back. It was probably an unrealistic expectation, but none the less, he thought back to the incessant knocking that Connor had filled his apartment with for what was probably ten minutes was only to invite him over- the idea of him trying again made his chest lighten.

 

When Oliver eventually confirmed his own suspicion, that his neighbor had returned home with no goal in mind of coming back around, he sighed and turned back to his apartment. For the first time in a while, he felt awake, aware, and somewhat sober- what his eyes laid on caused him to groan, wondering how long he would've ignored the mess for before it became too much.

 

For a minute or two, he contemplated cleaning up his own mess, but then a second idea floated into his mind and he actually attempted to smile. It might've been tonight that he would finally get rid of all the stuff that Jackson had so willingly left behind.

 

First came the sweater, as he tugged it off from where it'd seemingly melted to his skin, and while it used to smell like Jackson, now it was nothing but a sweaty hole-covered reminder of someone he'd probably never see again. Pushing back the part of him that screamed 'keep everything,' he shoved it roughly into a garbage bag.

 

Then, the god damn candles- there was dozens of them scattered on every available surface. Why had Jackson liked candles so much? They were a fire hazard, only good for an unexpected power outage, and into the garbage bag they would end up. Not only did they drive him insane, they'd often end up lit and flaming before they crawled tiredly into bed- that wasn't something he wanted to think about.

 

As he began to toss in numerous magazines that he never wanted to read, thoughts of Connor crept back into his crowded mind. It was becoming all too tempting to drop this, leave it behind for a night and head one door over. Only- he hadn’t showered in days, forget shaving, and now he was shirtless. The laundry had been abandoned weeks ago, as piles of dirty clothing was spread about the apartment like he simply didn't own a dresser. Slightly annoyed with himself, Oliver searched through the lumps of fabric until he found something that smelled just a tad better than the others, and slid the t-shirt over his chest with a sigh- it'd do.

 

In the bathroom, he scooped up every single one of Jackson's bottles. There was an overflow of shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream- it didn't even make sense to keep it, and yet until now, he was almost hoping that maybe he'd come home to use them once more. Even his orange-and-green toothbrush sat by the sink still, months later, and Oliver held back a threatening tear and he snapped it in half, chucking it into the bottom of the black bag.

 

"Screw you," Oliver muttered, tossing the bag aside- god, that felt better than he'd expected. With the counter cleaned, he leaned foreword with his elbows on the edges of the sink.

 

To finally face himself in the mirror had a bit of the shock-factor, dark bags beneath his eyes and a hollowness to his cheeks that made it painfully clear he'd forgotten how to cook for the past couple weeks. Stubble had covered his jaw, something that Jackson would've hated, and in an act of pointless  defiance, he decided to keep it. Instead of shaving, he pushed his messy hair to one side with a bit of warm water and splashed cold against his skin.

 

A deep breath in was followed by a shaky exhale, and Oliver spun away from the mirror, heading straight for his own door; however, as soon as his hand wrapped around the knob, he came to a halting stop. His mind had been so overwhelmed with doubt, convincing himself that the future just wasn't worth it without Jackson, and so he'd spend night after night watching sappy TV and staring at a cellphone that just wouldn't ring. It was beginning to feel like insanity, pacing his apartment floors and staring at his exes forgotten things- could he really do this forever?

 

Shaking his head in an attempt to sober himself, Oliver pushed open his own door and just as he did so, another opened one room over. It was Connor, doing the same he was. Just as they caught each other's stare, surprised and both expecting to find the hallway empty, Oliver flashed a smile.

 

"There it is."

 

The way that Connor was staring back at him, like a sense of relief had finally been found in Oliver's beaming face and he couldn’t have asked for anything more, caused his heart to thunder. No one had ever acted so gracious to see him happy, and though he'd been faking the smiles for a few weeks now, he was almost sure that it was real this time around.

 

A moment passed as both men stood outside closed doors, unable to take their eyes off the other as Connor raised his eyebrows and Oliver's cheeks ran rose red. It wasn't what he'd expected, as his head began to swim and words became jumbled before they'd even left his mouth, that the irritable neighbor could've ever made him feel this way. Was this spark there before, only he'd just been ignoring it for someone who didn't deserve his attention in the first place, or could this have been because he'd simply had too much to drink and the other was a flirt? Either way, his smile didn’t fade easily.

 

"Uh," Oliver stammered for a moment, trying to wipe the grin from his face, "The offer still standing?"

 

Walking towards him now, Connor gestured casually towards the elevator and the space between them quickly dissipated, "Sure is, but we don't have any pasta sauce. You up for a cold walk?"

 

 Still tipsy and light-headed, Oliver nodded eagerly and as they walked down the hall, side by side, stealing glances at the other. It wasn't until they'd reached the front doors that he broke the silence, "At least you've been able to get that sleep you always talked about, right?"

 

The question seemed to stump Connor as he seemingly contemplated his response for a moment, wrapping his jacket tighter around his body as the cool breeze hit their skin. It took him a second or two before he answered, hesitant and unsure, "I guess- I'm starting to think that the dead air is just as irritating as it was to listen to your laugh for hours on end."

 

Oliver chuckled lightly, "My laugh is irritating?"

 

"Not so much when I'm the one making it happen," Connor admitted, catching Oliver's gaze and causing him to miss a step. It hit a nerve, the thought of Jackson and the times they'd crack up at practically nothing, but the memories stung less now as he remembered the aftermath, "I'm not trying to mess with you, but what the hell went down with that guy?"

 

A moment passed as he struggled to form words behind tight lips, still unsure of what exactly caused the fight that ended it, "Oh, well- you know, it was probably my fault."

 

"What was? You told him to leave?"

 

"No," Oliver was quick to respond to Connor's assumption, having begged Jackson to stay the night that their conversation had transitioned into a screaming match, "I told him I didn’t want him to see other people, and uh, he didn't want to stop. I guess I crossed a line."

 

The line he'd crossed was commitment, assumedly, when Jackson had muttered something about not wanting this to turn into some sort of marriage as he packed his clothes into a box. It wasn’t a husband he'd been looking for, just someone who'd come home without the smell of other men on his clothes, beaming at an untold memory that didn't involve Oliver.

 

"Oh," Connor responded with a heavy exhale, as if he'd been holding his breath. There was a look behind his eyes and his concern evident; maybe he could relate to Jackson, and Oliver felt scrutinized for what he'd confessed, wishing he hadn't said anything in the first place.

 

The grocery store was only a block and a half away from the apartment, and they didn't say much more until they were inside the warmth of a building. It was late now, nearing ten PM, and the aisles were empty, something like elevator music playing over the speakers as the doors slid open.

 

"Fuck," Connor stared up at the numerous cans of sauce, scanning their labels as if they'd been written in another language, "Michaela usually does the shopping."

 

"She your girlfriend?" Oliver asked, attempting a casual tone, and Connor laughed aloud.

 

"Roommate, sometimes," He explained with an amused grin, obviously entertained by the suggestion; his stare drifted from the tomato sauce to Oliver's curious stare, "She's trying her hand at dating- not very good at it, though. Much better at picking out flaws if you ask me."

 

There was a certain look in Connor's attentive stare, a suggestive tone behind his words as he trailed Oliver's body from his feet up, and Oliver didn't have to ask to interpret what he meant. A flutter beneath his chest caused him the need to look anywhere else, sure that if they kept this up he'd find himself a babbling mess, and reached up to grab a cheap jar of pesto sauce, "This one's good."

 

"You sure it's-"

 

"Yup," Oliver began back down the aisle and towards the cashiers, his feet moving faster than he'd anticipated simply to relieve the heat rising up his skin, "Need anything else?"

 

There was no mistaking the way that Connor's lip was curling up at the side, knowing full well that he was the reason Oliver couldn’t stop squirming, and yet he hadn't done a damn thing- not really, but if looks could kill, he'd be back on the floor of aisle seven. As if to make it worse, or better, their fingers brushed against the others as they stood in line, only one person in front, ringing through what seemed to be a week's worth of groceries.

 

The cashier was doubtlessly tired, her long hair pulled into a messy bun as she rung the jar of sauce over a scanner, acting though she'd done it a hundred times in the last hour; it was a challenge to try and seem just as casual as she was, while Connor leaned into him ever so slightly and his whole body lit up with warmth, nonchalantly pulling change from his wallet as if he hadn't noticed the hysteria he'd caused.

 

It wasn't until they'd found themselves back out into the cold air that Oliver stopped mid-step, causing Connor's confusion as he cried out without warning, "What the hell is this?"

 

Bemusement clear across Connor's face, he looked down at the grocery bag in his hand and answered as if he had no idea what Oliver was referring too, "Uh- Alfredo, I think?"

 

"No," Oliver faltered, shaking his head with irritation that seemingly arose without cause, "This. Why'd you ask me out tonight? You- you gave me a hard time for months on end, when all I wanted to do was talk to you, like normal neighbors do. So, spit it out- why now?"

 

"Normal neighbors have some sense of privacy," Connor wasn't at all thrown off by his abruptness, as if he'd been expecting that question at any given moment; flashing a wink, Oliver knew immediately that he was hinting at the noisy nights when Jackson just simply didn't feel like sleeping, and he couldn't say no to a good time, "And I told you, you two were annoying as all hell, but this is actually worse- you don't seem happy anymore, and I… I had to see you smile. You cant stay cooped up in there forever."

 

It was then that Oliver realized that's exactly what he was planning to do, his voice threatening to crack, "Why the hell not?"

 

"Can't keep that smile from the rest of the world," Connor teased light-heartedly, taking a step closer as Oliver struggled to calm his nerves, "That guy, that left you? Just try to forget about him for a night- you still deserve to laugh, Oliver, trust me."

 

"Trust you? I barely know you."

 

"I've been there before," Connor admitted with a memory caught behind his momentarily distant expression, not taking the chance to explain further as he nodded to the sidewalk, "Let's get back?"

 

A shiver travelled down his spine as a cold wind crept beneath his shirt, and he soon fell into step next to his neighbor as they shared a lingering stare. It'd been weeks since he'd talked to anyone other than the woman that served his coffee and the other who stuffed his beer into the paper bag- since Jackson had walked out the door, he hadn't bother telling anyone what had happened, even if there were anyone who would listen, who would care; maybe Connor cared.

 

For the sake of Connor's sanity, Oliver tried to push to the back of his mind the staggering and constant awareness that he'd lost the one that he was sure was in it for the long haul. It was easier said than done, but less of a challenge when Connor was looking at him the way that he was, as if this is what he'd been waiting for, hoping for; as if every time that Oliver's lips tugged into a small smile or a chuckle slipped out, it was nothing less than perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the year that he'd turned seventeen, when Connor had first experienced the disaster that was commonly called love. Maybe he'd never said the word aloud, but after hours spent tossing restlessly beneath his sheets, wondering why in the hell his heart lurched at the idea of growing old with another person, it became painfully obvious that he'd fallen; fallen for someone who hadn't even tripped, still confident that there was more to life than Connor and his legs, arms, stomach, back, lips. There was a weakness in his previously guarded persona, and he hated it more than he hated knowing it was love wasted.

 

Staring over at Oliver, who'd seemed to forget only for a few minutes that his devotion was unshared, he ached to tell him, 'that feeling fades.' Instead, Connor attempted to keep his mind preoccupied with absurd stories about the law firm and listened to him as he recalled a time before Jackson had ever become a prerequisite in his life, when he'd first moved to Philadelphia and considered himself lost but none the less eager.

 

"So- you found this apartment how?"

 

Oliver's eyes crinkled with laughter, and it brightened his entire face, "Okay, I'd moved here and everything I owned was in my trunk, but there wasn't much. Was about to pull into this parking lot, sleep there for the night, when this insane wind blew threw and a newspaper- yeah, a full newspaper, hit my windshield. I panicked, hit a pole, and nearly ripped the page apart, until I saw the ad. Affordable, somewhat large, and close-by, so I moved in the next day. My car still has the dent, though."

 

"Seriously?" Connor chuckled, recalling how he'd simply found the place through a friend at school, "Well- that's eventful. You think you'll move out eventually?"

 

As if he'd asked something that stumped Oliver speechless, he stumbled over his words for a moment, staring at Connor through foggy lenses, "Uh- I don’t know. Will you?"

 

"I like it here," Connor lied- his room was too small, the view wasn't much to look at, and even on the coldest nights, the heat seemed questionable; the only reason he was still here was because the money he was currently making wasn't enough to live anywhere else. For a moment, the reason why he'd lied didn't become obvious until they reached the elevator and caught each other's stare- Oliver could make this place worth it.

 

A minute passed as the elevator music playing softly above, not quite loud enough to hide the way that Oliver's breath was staggered and quick, and Connor's fingers tapped against the walls, anxious to know what the rest of the night would bring. It wasn't until a hollow 'ding' rang out over the music, and they both stepped off and headed down the hallway.

 

Just as Connor opened his mouth, planning to explain that his roommate could be a bit intruding at times, their conversation was cut short by a ringtone; it was specific and personal, a recorded song that could only mean it held meaning, and Oliver reached into his pocket, his feet unmoving as he stiffened at the sight of his phone screen.

 

"Uh," Oliver stammered, his face paler than Connor had ever seen it and his fingers shaking around the device as the ringtone played on, "Thanks for… I've gotta go."

 

"Wait, Oliver-" Connor knew who was calling without having to ask, and tried to tell him that it wasn't worth it, that sometimes ignoring was the best tactic, but he was gone. The apartment door was open and shut before Oliver had even flashed him a second glance, completely engulfed in his screen as he left Connor standing alone in the hall for a second time.

 

Curious, startled, and slightly let-down, Connor took one step closer to the door, careful not to make much noise as he listened through the thin wood.

 

"-late as hell, why are you calling me?"

 

A few seconds passed as Oliver waited for a response, voice rising a little as he continued, "So, what- this is basically a booty call?"

 

Shifting where he stood, Connor couldn't help but press his ear to the door; another moment went by before he heard the anger behind Oliver's words, the betrayal and the heart-break that he was trying to stifle both obvious and horrible to recognize, "You don't want me… you want to get laid, that's what this is. You're just lonely."

 

"Shut the hell up," Oliver mumbled without much conviction, but he didn’t actually want that- it was clear that he attempting to sound strong, hard-willed, pretending to be okay, "You left me. You've probably fucked a dozen other guys since you've been gone."

 

It took a minute or two as Jackson must've been begging now, or possibly leading him on, telling him that tonight could be a one time thing- lines that Connor had said many times, and it stung to hear Oliver supressing a cry, "I don’t…I want more than that, you know that- I can't keep doing this."

 

'Yes you can,' Jackson would've said, because Connor knew the drill- he was all about one-night stands, leaving someone wondering where the hell he went hours after they'd passed out in a blissful haze. A heavy wave of regret washed over him, and he slid to the floor, his back leaning into the wall next to the door. The phone call only lasted a few more minutes, ending with Oliver's grief-stricken shout, "Leave me the hell alone, Jack- call someone else, I'm sure it won't be that hard to find another idiot dumb enough to agree."

 

Memories were playing over in his mind now, and Connor was trying to think back- how many people had he done this too, made feel this way, caused them the same pain that Oliver was fighting through at this very moment. With legs that felt numb and jelly-like, he rested his head back against the cold wall and swallowed a lump in his throat- a smash rang through the apartment, and he flinched, cringing as something broke against tile, followed by a bitter cry.

 

"Fuck," Connor muttered, his head falling into his palm; it was agonizing, to listen from the other side, knowing that Oliver had never felt so unimportant, so used. A pain was dragging his heart into his stomach, twisting and flipping as he waited for another smash, bang, or crash.

 

What happened instead was possibly worse, as Oliver pushed open his apartment door, eyes rimmed with red and tear-stained cheeks, fighting the urge to continue; it was then that he looked down at his feet and saw Connor, and knew that he'd heard every single word.

 

"Who the hell do you think you are," Oliver was speaking through a clenched jaw, teeth scraping together as he suppressed the need to break down and replaced it with a slow burning rage, "Get out of here, Connor. Go home."

 

Pushing him away, trying to reject all care shown towards him; Connor knew what he was doing, felt the agony that was surely building in his mind, but wasn't ready to give up, "No, listen-"

 

"NO, YOU LISTEN," Oliver's voice rose to a volume unsuitable for the late-night, furious and heated as he didn't bother to look around and make sure no one had heard, "Stop trying to fix me, stop eavesdropping- I don’t know you. I don’t need your damn help."

 

"Really?" Connor asked, meeting his stare and ignoring the burn as his neighbors eyes filled with tears formed by pure outrage, "Alright. Have a good fuckin' night."

 

There was no overlooking the glare that was currently on him, but Connor didn't try again, didn't meet his stare, didn't turn around- instead, he pushed himself up from the grown, a cold-shoulder shot in Oliver's direction as he walked back to his apartment, every bit of his body trembling. No footsteps followed down the hall, but as he opened the door, he could feel eye's on him; still, he'd made his point, and Connor shut the door with a small slam behind him.

 

"You get lost on your way?" Michaela called from the sofa, casually; Connor felt anything but, and yet he played along, dropping the sauce on the counter and pouring the noodles into the pot of boiling water, "Thought I'd have to start this without you."   
 

"Nope," Connor's voice cracked, shaking himself from a stupor as he crossed the room with weak steps, jumping over the back of the couch and flopping down into the cushions, "Start it- I'm good."

 

"I heard some yelling- that wasn't you, was it?"

 

Connor flashed a very un-genuine and confused look to his right, "What? No, I didn’t hear a thing- could've been a floor up, though."

 

"Oh, probably," Michaela shrugged, and turned back towards the screen; meanwhile, Connor's mind raced much to fast to pay attention to what was going on, and his stomach lurched each time he replayed the night over. It'd been seemingly going well, a slight sense of excitement before Oliver had received the call, looking forward to a night that wouldn't be spent the same way it always was. While it wasn't the same, it wasn't at all what he'd hoped for, and he was almost sure that Oliver's crumbling expression would be burned into his thoughts for far too long.

 

Halfway through the episode, Michaela was out cold, the bowl of noodles nearly tipping from her hands; it wasn't much of a surprise, as they'd both been working harder and harder with each case, with each test. Connor might've fallen asleep too, if it weren't for the thoughts crowding his mind- he shouldn't care, Oliver didn't want that, but he did. The apartment next door was silent, and yet he poured himself a coffee and sat as close as he could without 'eavesdropping,' because then he could pretend that it didn't matter to him.

 

Soft snores came from where he'd tossed a blanket over Michaela, not bothering to nudge her to the extra bedroom but instead busying himself at the kitchen table, drinking coffee at too late an hour and failing to focus on homework. Too many terms to read, to memorize, to eventually use in the courtroom; if he were going to study law right now, it'd have to be on aggravated damages.

 

It wasn't until he'd nearly passed out resting against his own arm, face first in a pile of papers, that he heard a door slam, and knew that Oliver had finally come home. Checking the clock, he realized it was three hours past midnight, and this was usually the time when bars would close. Judging by the way he heard the other man stumble into furniture, what sounded like a chair getting knocked to the ground and something falling with a clatter, Connor guessed that he'd went out and lost himself in vodka in an attempt to forget the way that Jackson could make him feel.

 

The words that Oliver spat out had stung, dampened a flame inside Connor's heart, but guilt once again overwhelmed him; it was  a way to deflect, to deal with the overwhelming idea that he didn't deserve love, and he'd been a perfectly good opportunity to let out some of those bitter thoughts.

 

With a sigh and fingers crossed that this wouldn't end up the exact same way as before, Connor wandered over to the kitchen counter and packed a Tupperware full with pasta. With the pen that he hadn't actually been using to do his homework, he scratched a quick 'for the hangover,' on top. Sticking it in the microwave for a minute or two, he listened as the TV turned on in the other room, and wondered what he was watching, or if he was even watching it.

 

Opening his door as quietly as he could, Connor placed the noodles in front of where Oliver would see them, knocked a few times, and subsequently scurried back into his own place. With his head against the inside of the wood, he heard the familiar creak as his neighbor surely looked around for the source of noise and found only the Tupperware instead. Sleeping was hard when drunk and pissed off, and he hoped that Oliver would wake up without the dizziness and regret that a hangover inevitably brought.

 

Turning off the lights, he tip-toed past Michaela and fell tiredly into his sheets- not a minute later, as he stared up at the dark ceiling, he heard the scraping of a fork against a plate, and smiled to himself. Dozing off into dreams filled with square-rimmed glasses and elevator stares, he wondered if he'd have another chance to see that smile one more time.


	5. Chapter 5

_A cage surrounded him on all four sides, solid lead bars squaring him in; Oliver couldn't breath, couldn't move- where was he? Looking around in a panic, everything seemed to be in a haze. The room he was in was filled with fog, empty and bare, completely alone, and he was stuck in the exact middle._

_There was no telling how long he struggled, time seemingly non-existent as he wrapped his fingers around the poles and shook, screamed, cried out for help- no one came for what could've been days._

_'This is it for you,' a voice came from the fog, unseen, but he knew exactly who it was. Not a moment later, Jackson stepped out from the clouded film, a smug and vicious smirk spread across his face. There was a key hanging around his neck, tied to a chain, and though there was nothing to say that it could unlock his cage, Oliver somehow knew._

_Shaking the crate with increasing horror, he shouted out, his calls sounding far away and barely there, 'Please, Jackson, let me out. Please.'_

_Laughing came spilling from his ex-boyfriends lips, louder and louder, until it was ringing in his ears, echoing the walls of the blurred room. There was no remorse in his eyes as he stared down at Oliver, crouching in his crate as if he were a dog that had done something wrong- why didn’t he care?_

_'Why are you doing this to me?'_

_The laughing stopped altogether, and Jackson's expression became serious now, 'You're doing this to yourself, Oliver. Let yourself out.'_

_'I can't,' Oliver argued, a cry lodged in his throat, the pipes unmovable and cemented into their position, 'I'm stuck.'_

_'All you've got to do is leave,' Jackson answered as if it were simple, and Oliver frustration grew; there was no clasps, no door, nothing to break the bars with._

_It was then that Jackson's figure disappeared back into the mist, as if he'd simply evaporated, and formed a whole new person; Connor Walsh. Without saying a word, Connor reached into his pocket and pulled out the same key that had been wrapped around Jackson's neck. Just as he leaned down to open the cage, something stopped him, 'Why won't you let me save you?'_

 

It felt slightly as though the world was ending when he awoke from a loud knock at the door, sunlight creeping through his curtains and burning sobriety into his skin, forcing him to quickly bury himself beneath a pillow. The only comfort he found was the realization that the sheets he'd wrapped himself in were his own, not a cage but soft fabric, and for a quick moment, he reached over with the expectations of finding Jackson sleeping next to him. When his open palm fell upon nothing, his throat swelled- the night came rushing back to him like a wave swallowing someone in it's monstrosity.

 

A second knock brought him back from the hazy memories, nearly stepping on a forgotten dinner plate as he groaned and swung his tired legs over the side of the bed- the pasta that he'd devoured the night before happened to be the only reason he hadn't spent last night hung over the toilet, throwing up what could've only been vodka and bar peanuts.

 

"Coming," Oliver responded with a weak-willed shout, though probably not  loud enough for whoever was knocking to hear. While he wouldn't have minded, it certainly wouldn't be Connor waiting on the other side, he was almost confident of that; you push someone away enough, and eventually they won't come back, whether you want them too or not.

 

While he'd already known not to expect it, the fact that it wasn't his neighbor was more than a little disheartening, and he frowned without consideration. Instead, who stood on the other side of the door frame was someone he didn't recognize right away, "You might have the wrong room."

 

"Michaela," The woman ignored his comment, reaching her open palm out as if introducing herself for a formal interview, except that Oliver was dressed in dirty sweat pants and his breath surely smelled a whole lot like Jack Daniels. His disgruntled appearance didn't seem to phase her as she shot him an enthusiastic smile, red lipstick framing her soft lips, "Hi."

 

A pang of hope lifted his sunken sense of confidence, "Oh, uh- Connor's roommate, right?"

 

"Right," She nodded with eagerness, once again expressing much more enthusiasm than he deserved at this very moment, "So, Connor told me he tried to invite you over for a drink the other night, and you thought he was there for the landlord? I just wanted to apologize on his behalf, he can be a bit of a grouch sometimes. I just… are you hungry?"

 

Looking back into the kitchen, Oliver knew that their Tupperware was sitting on his kitchen counter- it was obvious that Connor hadn't told his roommate what had happened after their brief conversation that night, and turned back to Michaela, "Sure, um- give me a minute?"

 

"I'll leave the door open," She gestured to the room over, heading back to their apartment and leaving Oliver wondering what the hell to do.

 

There was a good chance, very good, that Connor didn't want to see his face again; the words he'd spat out still rung in his head, sparking guilt and regret. Deciding that the best thing to do at the point would be to apologize and leave with what pride he had left, he searched through the mess until he'd found a decent pair of jeans and pushed his hair back with cold water.

 

Messy handwriting was scrawled across a plastic lid that he'd left on the counter, and he found himself absently staring down at it for a moment, running his fingers over where the pen had imprinted the material. 'For the hangover,' it said, and he chuckled lightly at the favor.

 

There was a breakfast smell wafting through the hallway, and he sniffed the air the moment he'd opened his apartment door- eggs, definitely. Calming himself with a deep breath, he brushed off the overwhelming nerves and headed a room over.

 

"Ignore the mess," Michaela was working over the stove, nodding to the papers on the table; Oliver peered around the room curiously, and it took a moment before she realized he was expecting to find another person, "He's sleeping- I know, it's late."

 

"No, it's fine," Oliver attempted a sincere smile, looking over to where she was cracking eggs into a frying pan, "Can I, uh, help with anything?"

 

Before she could answer, the creak of a bedroom door cut their conversation short; they both looked over to find Connor, his eyes barely open and his hair messy and tangled, and the sight of Oliver standing in his kitchen seemed to cause his feet to glue themselves to the floor. Their stares landed on each other, and it was both obvious and amusing that he wasn't expecting house guests, immediately reaching up to fix his bed-head and yet remained unbothered that he'd walked out of the room shirtless and half-asleep. For what felt like more than what was only a few seconds, they both took in the others appearance in a silence that Michaela clearly didn’t understand.

 

"Made breakfast," She mumbled to her roommate, casually nodding to the cupboards, "Set the table- clean up your mess."

 

"Oh, no, it's fine," Oliver hurried to offer his own hand in assistance, reaching to grab a few plates from the shelf and piling the stray papers into a neat pile; the vast amount of unfinished work caused his eyes to widen, "Is this really all homework?"

 

They both laughed humorlessly, as if it wasn't nearly as much as it could've been, and Michaela answered, "Our teacher is a bit of an extremist."

 

"Like you aren't?" Connor  muttered as he wandered into the kitchen, his eyes drifting from the soon-to-be breakfast back to Oliver, who was trying to pretend like the curious gaze didn't send a flutter beneath his chest, "Also- since when do you cook?"

 

A blush quickly rose to her cheeks as she tried to play it off as nonchalantly as possible, "Don't be an ass, or else there won't be any left for you."

 

The interaction caused Oliver to laugh aloud, and while his head pounded and the smell of food was causing his mouth to water, he couldn't deny that this was surely the nicest thing a neighbor had ever done for him; even if she'd done it simply out of pity, he didn't care all too much at this point.

 

"So, I don’t get it- you two go to class, and then work right after?"

 

"Oh yeah, all for the experience," Connor answered in a droll, sarcasm prevalent in his tone as he continued, "And after that, we sell our souls to Annalise."

 

Even Michaela couldn’t deny that the workload was starting to get to the both of them, shrugging as she flipped the omelet, "It's really not-"

 

"Don't act like you weren't studying for the bar exam when she had us working that last case," He interrupted as he dropped himself into a chair beside Oliver, his bare chest both distracting and enticing; it was a challenge to overt his eyes, but Connor didn't seem to mind a bit, "We both know you're ready to lose it, you're just too kiss-ass to admit it."

 

Rolling her eyes, Michaela grabbed the plate sitting in front of Oliver and filled it, "Sorry if it's not-"

 

"She doesn't cook," Connor finished for her, staring down at what might not turn out to be as appetizing as it smelled; it didn't matter to Oliver, he'd eat just about anything, "So what she's trying to say is, this is the first time she's ever actually used this kitchen."

 

"It looks great," Oliver grinned up at her with gratitude, and Connor seemingly became mesmerized for a moment; it was as if he was caught between admiration and awe, and once again, he  had to wonder why his smile rendered his neighbor speechless each time. There was a question behind his eyes, something like 'how the hell did she get you here?' Because neither wanted to admit to Michaela that they'd shared more than a few words before now, Connor didn't voice his interest aloud- instead, he flashed a timid half-smile and a wink that caused the butterflies in his stomach to fly into a free-for-all.

 

It wasn't until they realized that Michaela was eyeing them with concern that Connor lifted his plate and held it out across the table, "Alright, give me some of that mush."

 

"At least I tried," She argued with a stubborn attitude, glaring down at him as she tugged the plate from his hands, "That pasta was overcooked, by the way."

 

"Yeah, right. I think Oliver would disagree," Connor looked over with a clever grin, knowing full well that Oliver had enjoyed every last bite- he wasn’t wrong, "You wouldn't know anyways, you passed out before you'd even lifted the fork."

 

Sitting down around a kitchen table, Oliver was more than content to listen to their banter and laugh along with at the law-references that he didn't fully understand; it was much better than eating alone, wishing that he was still sharing meals with someone who wouldn't come home until well after dinner time anyways. This was enough, scooping up bites of omelet and catching Connor's eyes on him with every other bite. It was comfortable, easy, cozy; they didn’t pester him about his break up, or ask why he'd been alone for the last month. Instead, Connor teased him when he referred to himself as an 'IT nerd,' and Michaela confessed that math was the only thing she wasn't good at in high school.

 

It wasn't until she disappeared to the bathroom that they were finally alone, and there was nothing stopping them from discussing the blow-out. A deep breath in, and he turned to Connor, "I'm sorry, I-"

 

"Don't worry about it," Connor interrupted not a moment after he'd begun to apologize; it was then that he let his hand  trail from the table to Oliver's knee, an assuring touch that brought both relief and thrill, "I kind of deserved it- I mean, you didn't need me creeping outside your place while you're ex booty-called you. You've gotta deal with shit on your own time."

 

"I'm done, dealing with it," Oliver said, and it was the first time he'd spoken the confession aloud, having repeated the words only in his thoughts; it caused a lump in his throat, but he cleared it with confidence, "You, uh, don’t need to be sorry. Thanks, for the pasta."

 

Connor winked once more, rolling his shoulders back and beaming a sly smile, "What pasta?"


	6. Chapter 6

It was something that no one talked about, the way that the city could make someone feel so achingly lonely; the idea seemed impossible, because taking a step outside meant that you'd instantly be surrounded by people, on the bus, subway, sidewalks, coffee shops. Maybe it was because no matter how many strangers that you were faced with, days would still pass without real conversation, everyone was carrying on around you and worlds so rarely colliding.

 

With his shoulders stiff and broad, Connor fought past an opposing crowd walking quickly towards him, knowing that he was just another obstacle, another thing to move around or push right past; eye contact wasn't necessary, nor a smile or a friendly greeting, and it finally made sense why the more people that ignored you, the easier it was to feel alone.

 

The only thing that he craved now was an actual sense of isolation, a night away from the constant chatter and the reminders that in a city populated with one and a half million, he'd still rather be by himself; on the other hand, there was a 'one in a million' that he'd had on his mind since the day before, a wide smile caught in his thoughts often enough to distract him from the job. They'd spent a simple breakfast together, courtesy of Michaela, and yet nothing nice lasted long when you worked under Annalise.

 

A light rain had begun to fall before he'd even made it to his block, causing him to groan and reach for a newspaper from a sidewalk stand, holding it over his head; it would only stay dry for a few minutes, and so he quickened his steps and ignored the 'don’t-walk' lights whenever there was a break in traffic.

 

When his apartment building finally came into view, Connor slipped the newspaper into someone's abandoned recycling bin and headed up the steps. It wasn't until he'd pushed open the door that he'd realized there was someone else in the front room, trying desperately to reach a resident through the speaker, buzzing it incessantly and leaving no chance for someone to respond.

 

For a short moment, Connor considered simply letting him through the locked door, finding a small sense of pity as he peered over at the guests drenched clothes and annoyed expression; after a second glance, it became clear that he wasn't a stranger, but Jackson. The apartment he was trying to reach was Oliver's, one door over from his own,  and if he wasn't getting a response, it was probably for a good reason. With his eyes on the floor, he avoided contact and snuck through the door, ignoring the way that he'd shot him a nasty glare on his way in.

 

The elevators rang and began to drop, and he watched through the glass as Jackson continually slammed his finger against the speaker button over and over - impatient might've been an accurate way to describe his behavior, and Connor shook his head, suppressing the need to laugh at how pathetic he'd seemed. Stifling the urge to tell him to give up and go home, the elevator doors opened and he finally tore his stare away.

 

As the doors pulled apart four floors up, Oliver came into view, jumping back with red cheeks and a surprised expression as he was just about to step on next, "Oh, I-"

 

"You were going to see your ex," Connor interrupted as he left the elevator, shaking the rain from his jacket and finding that his heart sunk just a little at the realization; Oliver had claimed he was done with him, that it was over, and obviously those words hadn't meant much, "One quick question- why?"

 

Immediate regret washed over Oliver's expression, and he quickly tucked his phone back into his pocket and let the doors shut, stumbling back a few feet; Connor wasn't going to stand around for long and wait to find out what made Jackson so damn irresistible, a moment away from heading towards his apartment before he responded without much gusto, "I miss him."

 

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Connor spun back towards him and met his red-rimmed eyes with little sympathy this time around, "Do you? Or are you just lonely?"

 

It was obvious that even Oliver was hesitant to meet him downstairs, his gaze falling on the floor as he lied to himself, "I just…everyone deserves a second chance, right?"

 

"Sure," Connor countered, shrugging as if it wasn't killing him to watch Oliver give in to Jackson's bait, "but it sounded like you've given him about fifty chances. You really think it's going to be different this time?"

 

The question seemed to hit a nerve, and Oliver replaced his confusion with anger that he'd surely built up in the fight to ignore the luring temptation that was his ex. It was a challenge, admittedly, to ignore someone who was so blatantly trying to get him back into bed, but Connor had assumed he was stronger- a moment passed before he argued back, "Maybe- how would you know?"

 

"Not like my opinion should mean shit, but sometimes sleeping alone is better than letting yourself be a damn punching bag," Connor's voice rose a little, concern mixed with frustration; he'd been in that situation, choosing meaningless sex over dealing with his own heartache, the voices in his head telling him that it wouldn't mean a thing and yet he always woke up feeling worse than before.

 

"So, what? I wait for someone better? Connor, look at me- I'm not worth it, I don't deserve 'someone better,' so I'm fine with settling for less," With his fists curling into balls and a lump rising in his throat, Oliver choked back his emotions and pushed roughly past Connor, slamming the button on the wall, "What exactly is it that I should be waiting for, anyways?"

 

He realized then that the way he saw Oliver must've been much different than whoever he saw when he looked in the mirror; he couldn't help but find beauty in the smile he beamed so rarely, interest in the stories that he seldom shared, charm in his stubborn attitude and dorky nature. It was without much further thought that Connor let his briefcase drop to the floor, and ignored the part of his mind that was telling him to just walk away.

 

With one hand grasping at his waist and the other brushing against his jaw, Connor shut his eyes and pressed his wind-bitten lips to Oliver's; for only a second did he stand perfectly still, stunned as his gasp was quieted with a kiss, before everything fell into place. They tumbled into the wall as he lifted his own palm, wrapping it behind the other's neck and losing himself, pushing back now- it wasn't until the elevator doors finally opened with a ring did they take a sudden step back, both  wide-eyed and attempting to catch their own breath.

 

It was the passion that he'd been waiting for, and Connor was there with him, his body trembling with excitement and temptation, the need to dive deeper and explore more buzzing beneath his skin. For a minute, they both stared back at each other, both silently asking the same thing- are you feeling this too?

 

The realization that the only reason they'd met in the hallway is because Jackson was currently downstairs seemed to click in both their minds, and Oliver shook his head, flustered and blushing, "I can't- I can't see him anymore."

 

"I'll deal with him," Connor blurted out, leaving his briefcase lying on the floor as he headed for the stairs; the last thing that Oliver needed was to see his ex one more time, and just maybe he'd been dying to tell the asshole off from the start. With a racing heart and a whirlwind spinning in his thoughts, he hurried down the steps and found that the adrenaline currently pouring through his body made it easier than ever to reach the bottom floor.

 

As he'd expected, Jackson was still standing behind the locked doors, now with his phone pressed to his ear; it wasn't a surprise that Oliver didn't answer. With a heavy push, Connor burst through the doors and made it clear that he wasn't here to do anything but confront him, "Why the hell are you here, man?"

 

It was evident that he hadn't expected anyone to talk to him, and Jackson turned towards Connor with anger lit behind his stare, "What are you, security?"

 

"Just tell me, straight up- why are you here?"

 

"I'm waiting for someone," Jackson replied, gesturing to his phone as if Connor was the idiot, "What do you want?"

 

The state of elation that Connor was currently riding forced him to step closer, knowing now that he'd made his impression, "I want you to back off, unless you're here to make things right. Unless you're here to love him the way he needs it, you should probably just leave."

 

"Wait a second," Jackson's eyes narrowed, and he shoved his phone into his jacket's pocket as if he was readying for a fight, "Are you Oliver's neighbor? Who the hell do you think you are-"

 

"That's fucking rich," Connor wasn't intimidated, not the least bit ready to back off, and his voice rose with the challenge, "If you're here to commit, then by all means, keep pressing that god damn button. But if you're calling Oliver right now just so that you can prove to yourself that you can get any guy in your god damn contact list, then you might as well turn the hell around."

 

Before he had the chance to answer, or do more than talk back, Oliver stepped out of the elevator and ran towards them both. The sight of his ex pressed so close to Connor sent Jackson off the deep end, his expression fading to rage as his temper grew, "You know what? Whoever you are, fuck off. You too, Oliver- you send this douchebag down here so that you don't have to deal with me? You're a god damn coward, I don’t need your small-"

 

Connor didn’t give him the chance to finish his weak-willed insult, shoving him with both hands pressed flat against his chest and sending him tumbling back towards the doors; for a moment, he expected Oliver to get upset, to tell him to calm down, but he didn’t say a thing. Instead, Jackson steadied himself and laughed dryly before he turned to leave, "You know what? This guys right- Only wanted to fuck with you one last time, but it doesn't matter- you're nothing special."


	7. Chapter 7

The doors shut with a slam and Oliver watched his ex storm off, his heart racing as he tried to steady his trembling hands, almost positive that Jackson had been able to read his mind; it was those exact words that he'd been repeating over in his thoughts for the past month, 'I'm nothing special, I'm nothing special.' Only, whenever Connor flashed him that familiar curious stare, those admiring eyes, did he feel anything but insignificant.

 

"Shit, I didn't mean to do that," He'd began in a panic after he'd looked over at Oliver and saw that every part of his body was shaking, his feet seemingly glued to the ground as if he wasn't sure what had just happened, or what to do next. The chaos had formed and dispersed so quickly, it obviously wasn't his initial plan to lay a hand on Jackson, and he let his fingers run through his hair, struggling to find the right words to apologize, "He's just so- god, I'm sorry, that was completely my fault. Are you okay?"

 

Again, there it was- the same enticing look, the genuine concern caught behind his eyes that could cause Oliver's self-doubt and worry to fade, almost as if it were never there in the first place. There was no apparent reason for his interest, or so he thought, and yet Connor had just stood up for him as if he actually mattered, as if he was worth fighting for.

 

"Yeah," Oliver finally let slip the breath he'd been holding in, and decidedly ignored that they were standing where anyone could see them, where Jackson could've possibly turned to witness; with his hands trailing over Connor's chest and around his shoulders, he pulled him closer and showed him just how far from angry that he really was.

 

Eager and impatient, it was the other now who was taken aback by the suddenness of the kiss, and Oliver didn't hold back this time around; a gasp slipped from Connor's lips as he let his hands travel, grasping the other's sides and tugging him closer. When he eventually pulled back with a subtle and surprised smile across his face, it was only to ask, "What was that for?"

 

"No ones ever… no one else would've done that for me," Oliver admitted with so much honesty that it almost stung, and yet the way that Connor was staring down at him made it nearly impossible to feel anything but captivated, intrigued, fingers still lingering where they'd landed. If they would've turned back towards the apartments now, there would've been one idea prominent in his mind.

 

It seemed that the same could've undoubtedly been said for Connor, his gaze trailing Oliver's disheveled appearance with a tempted interest, "You're sure you're okay?"

 

"Better than," Oliver's thoughts were consumed by Connor, every little part of him aching for more- his voice, smile, stare, the way that his hands grabbed him gentle but firm and his lips were soft but could surely play rough. This was where it began, and then it became clearer; he didn't want to coerce him into his sheets at the first sign of attraction, just to let the rest follow. With his fingers crossed that this wouldn't end up worse than if he'd invited him upstairs at this very moment, he nodded to the exit and shrugged, "I should get out of here, for a bit. You, uh, wanna come?"

 

"Yeah," Connor smiled wide, even wider as Oliver mirrored his expression, "That sounds good."

 




 

Public transit was always a mess in Philadelphia, constantly busy and crowded, but neither was concerned or bothered; Connor's lips still felt fresh on his own, as if he could still feel the way he'd made his chest jump and his heartbeat quicken, skin still blushed and less than appropriate thoughts whirling in his mind. They leaned into each other at every stop, hiding a smile as their fingers brushed around the pole they held for balance. It wasn't as if either knew when they were going to step off, until Oliver caught a closer sight of the Benjamin-Franklin Bridge and nodded to the door.

 

As they became one in a group that bustled off the bus, Connor waited until the surrounding people dispersed before both walked in no direction in particular, staring up at the bridge now brightened and outlined with lights and the night sky an enticing background. It wasn't as if he hadn't been down to the waterfront before, but it all looked a bit more charming after the sun had fallen, and maybe more so when Connor was walking in step next to him, sharing the view.

 

Couples walked hand in hand around them, but none looked at their lover like Oliver saw Connor, stealing secret glances as they shared a comfortable silence; it'd never been like that with Jackson, the dead air somewhat deafening, compelled to find a way to fill it with noise- singing, rambling, fighting, sex. Maybe that was what he'd wanted at the time, but as he remembered back to it now, those times felt forced and artificial.

 

The silence was broken by Connor, turning to Oliver with concern caught in his gaze, "You, uh, sure you're okay? I mean, about before."

 

Thoughts of Jackson had been lingering in his mind, admittedly, but not in the way that Connor was surely assuming. It took him a moment to put into words the revelation he'd been having, "The thing is, I think that I was seeing him the way I wanted to. Just took a while to realize that whoever I was with, he wasn't real- I mean, there was times when he'd leave for hours, days, and I didn't know what he was doing, where he was, but I let it go. There's a good chance I only knew a version of him, and-"

 

"And there's probably more than one," Connor finished with an understanding nod, resting against a fence that separated the walking path from Delaware River. They both stared out at the dark water, coloured lights reflecting off it's misty surface- Oliver couldn't help himself, letting his arm just barely brush Connor's as they leaned over the railing.

 

A moment passed that felt more like an eternity, and Connor held his breath; this obviously wasn't something he did often, and nor was it in Oliver's experience- the impromptu night was beginning to feel something like a date, and neither had much experience outside the privacy of the bedroom. A hollow laugh caught his attention, and he turned with a bothered glance- had he done something wrong?

 

"This is, uh, kind of dumb," Connor's smile was hesitant, flustered and unsure, "But- do you want to go get a drink?"

 

Relief flooded his worried thoughts, and he let slip a wide grin and confessed, "Honestly, I'm a little sick of bars."

 

"Oh, yeah, sorry it was a stupid-"

 

"I've got a better idea," Oliver interrupted, taking a risk as he intertwined Connor's fingers with his own and tugged him away from the waterfront; the look across his expression was priceless, and while their hands slid apart as soon as they'd turned, they kept a smile that lasted much longer.

 

The plaza was busy with people, dressed as if heading to some sort of festival. As Oliver pushed his way towards the liquor store, they caught whiffs of weed and conversations regarding a soon-to-be concert in Penn's Landing. With a plan in mind, it didn't take long until they'd hastily bought and tucked a bottle of wine beneath Connor's jacket, following the rambunctious groups of teens heading towards the waterfront park.

 

It was when a large stage had finally come into sight that the band began to play, a hollow music sounding out over the area and a rowdy horde of what could've been nearly a thousand people cheering along to whatever it was being sung; indie music wasn't exactly in his preferred genres, nor did Connor seem to know the music, but neither cared.

 

"Let's just- I'm not good with crowds," Oliver gestured to a nearby pier, not quite as packed and dimly lit as it was a fair distance from the stage; they'd been waiting to crack open the hidden bottle, and Connor nodded after realizing that the less people surrounding them, the easier it'd be to get away with openly drinking in public. It wasn't as if he'd really wanted to go to a bar, it was simply that he just wanted the night to continue for as long as it could.

 

The wood beneath their shoes creaked ever so slightly as they broke into a jog, laughing carelessly and dashing towards the very end; the water was far beneath the dock, but they found an unfenced portion and let their feet dangle over the edge, ignoring the wind coming off the river in favor of finding a spot to be somewhat alone.  Tugging the bottle out from beneath his coat, Connor spun the cork off and chuckled as Oliver let out an exaggerated hurrah; the music was quieter now that they'd distanced themselves from the park, but could still be heard echoing over the area. Muffled lyrics became not much more than background noise as they passed the wine back and forth, each taking small sips and letting the liquid warm their body until the cold air became more of a comfort than a bother.

 

"I don't mean to sound like a broken record," Connor began, and Oliver knew that whatever he was about to say had to do with Jackson; he peeked over with curiosity, "But the only reason that asshole keeps coming around is 'cause you decided that you can do better. It's a 'want what you can't have' kind of complex, and I just…It'd be a shame if you let him win."

 

There was more truth in his statement than Oliver was willing to admit, and yet a realization arose that he'd been the one who had succeeded in the end- his lips tugged automatically across his face, certain now that there wasn't any going back for him and Jackson and overjoyed that for the first time, he wasn't upset over the fact; the unexpected grin seemed to send Connor into a distracted daze, his stare stuck on the other man's expression, "Why do you do that?"

 

The question caused Connor to shake his head and regain a sense of confidence, running his hands through his hair and forcing himself to look away from Oliver's stretched lips, "What?"

 

"I mean, the way you're always trying to get me to smile," Oliver was a bit buzzed now, the words pouring from his mouth before he had a chance to filter what he was saying; he fidgeted with the bottle in his lap, aiming to continue, "Or, like, I don’t know- you get all starry eyed whenever I do. What is that? No one's ever cared about it, even mentioned it."

 

The abrupt admission immediately caused Connor's assurance in himself to fade, a rarely seen blush rising up his cheeks. It was strange to suddenly see him struggling to find his own voice, always one that spoke with certainty and sureness, "I, uh, work around a lot of people who have to fake just about everything. It's not like anyone is actually happy to be stuck in the courtroom, and I can tell you honestly that the only reason lawyers are friendly is for the confession- they're really just as miserable as the rest of us. So, you know, it's refreshing to see someone with a genuine smile, like yours. Told you before- it's a damn nice smile."

 

It felt a bit silly to let himself grin once more, sure that now he was only showing off, and yet Connor still acted captivated by the sight. For a second or two, Oliver considered leaning over and doing something that might've been a product of intoxication; what stopped him was the overwhelming urge to ask a question that had been on his mind from the first time they'd actually had a conversation, "Do you even like your job?"

 

A minute or two passed as Connor chose to respond instead with a large drink, staring down at his hands as he contemplated an answer to a complicated question; it wasn't like he'd ever bragged about his career, and whenever he did discuss it, his comments weren't usually positive or eager. Finally, he cleared his throat and shrugged, "Alright, here it goes- I thought I’d be working for a sense of justice, you know? Like, maybe I'd feel good after a day at the firm, like I'd helped someone or done something worth talking about. Not really the case- most people that we get out of trouble don't deserve a bit of their freedom, but that's the job."

 

The way his voice cracked caused Oliver to frown; there must've been guilt weighing him down, making it nearly impossible to keep fighting for those who he didn't feel were innocent in the first place, and he couldn't imagine doing the same. Just as he was about to sympathize, a ringing from Connor's pocket caught both their attention, and his eyebrows pulled together in frustration- there was no doubt in either man's mind that it was work.

 

Oliver couldn't hold back an amused chuckle, watching while Connor let out a loud and annoyed groan before sliding his finger across the screen, "Michaela, I swear to god if you tell me-"

 

The voice on the other end was hushed to Oliver's ears, but he could see in Connor's fading expression that whatever was being said was far from a casual call. A long moment passed before he finally responded, "Are you serious?"

 

"Alright, uh-" Connor looked over at Oliver now, meeting his interested stare with one of fear, and he wasn't sure why it suddenly felt a bit too personal, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

 

The phone line fell dead, and Connor remained silent- what ever it was that he'd heard had brought a sudden shake to his hands, and his lips were pressed into a tight line, contemplated something unsaid. Curiosity was killing him, "Did something bad happen?"

 

"I don’t know if I should-"

 

"C'mon," Oliver nudged his shoulder a bit, trying to tease him into a confession; for the first time, the smile he'd flashed didn't do anything to phase Connor, concern across his expression remaining un-phased, "Just tell me what happened- I'm good with secrets, I swear."

 

The distant music came to a stop as the band seemingly took a break, and a silence stretched out over the park as Oliver stared over at Connor, waiting for anything to be said. When he finally did speak, it brought his racing heart to an immediate stop, "It's Jackson- he's our new client."


End file.
